


The Rules (According to Bryce Dignam)

by QDS



Category: The Departed
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:wook77
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QDS/pseuds/QDS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dignam and Costigan meet alone - and unexpected tensions are brought to the fore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rules (According to Bryce Dignam)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wook77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wook77/gifts).



> A few thank yous for indirect, unwitting help. The writers and reads on The Departed Fic community on LJ, for some excellent fic, ideas and inspiration (some of which I've adapted to suit my own purposes). And also to wook77; thanks for introducing me to this fandom.
> 
> Spoilers for the whole film.

When it came to life, Bryce Dignam followed the rules. They weren't necessarily the rules everyone else followed, and their execution was all entirely Dignam's.

Dignam considered some of these as he waited in the car for Costigan to arrive. Outside, the dark water glistened red and gold with the reflected city lights. They were meeting under the same bridge they'd met under two weeks ago, out of the way of anyone either of them might know. It was as safe as they could get, given the nature of their work. But this time, Dignam was alone. Queenan had been called away at the last minute, asking Dignam to handle the meeting, rather than attempting to reschedule.

"And be smart," he'd warned him. "If you wind him up too much you'll both end in floating in the harbour and that's the last thing we need."

Be smart was, in fact, Dignam's first rule.

It was the first because it was the underlying principle of all the other rules, the one to which he always returned. Do the homework. Remember it for the tests. Even though Dignam knew he wasn't NASA material, he was smart enough to know that it was a good idea to do the homework. It had gotten Dignam far enough in school to get into the police academy, and then into the Staties. It hadn't always been easy, but it had worked.

It had continued to apply in his working like, if not more so because the stakes were much fucking higher. Failing a test was one thing; getting another cop shot was another. Do the background reading. All of it, not just a skim read to be tossed aside and half-remembered. _Know it._ If something caught his eye he would do more reading on that. He made phone calls, talked to people, found out as much as he damn well could. That way when some lace-curtain Irish prick trainee, sporting a mouth that Dignam to his shame wanted to feel around his dick, who Dignam already hated on paper because he was so obviously out to prove something, entered Queenan's office, he could maintain his composure, and recite the kid's life story with his arms folded, staring down at him as the trainee sat seething with impotent rage.

Said former trainee, Billy Costigan, slipped into view from around the side of the bottom of bridge. Dignam got out of the car, closed the door, and stood with his hands into his pockets. Costigan approached, grimacing eyes glancing around furtively, reading to pop someone in the mouth if they pushed him too far.

Dignam noted with satisfaction and a twinge of remembered pain on his left cheek that he that'd been very right on that aspect of Costigan's personality.

"What's the matter, asshole? It's a beautiful warm night and all you can do is sulk like a two year old?"

That was Dignam's next rule: use your words well, because words had power.

Dignam didn't hit people in arguments or fights. Well, that's wasn't quite true. He only did it when the asshole really, really had it coming to him, and that occurrence was actually rarer in Dignam's mind than people would have given him credit for. No, Dignam learnt early on that if he used words wisely and creatively, that would catch people off guard, and force them to think, even for just a second. And when you weren't all that tall, and when you were a skinny kid who only really got some muscle after high school, it was a far better way of staying on top of the situation. It was also a damn sight easier way to get a rise out of perps (or fellow officers), and it had the added benefit of actually being legal and could even incriminate the other guy if they let their temper get the better of them.

Words, he learnt, conveyed a shit load of messages beyond their actual meaning. The more colourful his words were, the more it gave people the impression of a few things. One, that he would in fact smack them one if they continued to be a fucking idiot (even though he wouldn't). Two, that he knew more than them, which he generally did, but even when he didn't, words could level out the playing field so by the end of the conversation the other guy didn't know which way was up. And three...well, he just sounded damn cool by completely disregarding the regular laws of basic politeness that most people obeyed.

Only a few people hadn't been fooled by Dignam's for a minute. The first was Mrs McGrath, the high school English teacher who had taught Dignam this rule. His wife, Patricia, was the second, and Queenan was the third.

Costigan glared at him, and Dignam allowed himself a smirk. Dignam did enjoy making Costigan angry, mainly because as far as Dignam was concerned Costigan was an uppity asshole who thought his own shit didn't stink, but also because he liked seeing those eyes turn a startling steel gray.

Dignam inwardly kicked himself for enjoying that last image.

"Where the hell is Queenan?"

"Queenan got called away at the last minute."

"But--"

"It's me or no one, sweetheart. And this time we gotta behave ourselves, so you keep you fucking fists down and we might just get through this."

Dignam's words were firm, but even when faced with an irritating, damn-why-did-you-have-to-be-so-fucking-pretty live-wire like Costigan, he oddly felt calmer without Queenan around. He'd worked with Queenan so long that their good-cop-bad-cop roles and method of operating influenced practically every interaction with anyone else. Patricia had noticed that very quickly, and had suggested , only half joking, that it would perhaps be best if he and Queenan met in a bar or restaurant for a meal rather than coming over to their place for dinner.

Costigan threw his hands up, simultaneously shrugging and shaking his head, then rubbed his face. Dignam frowned. On closer look, through the shadows under the bridge, past the steely gray and the higher than surely necessary cheek bones, Costigan's eyes were looking kind of red. Not in the blood shot alcoholic way, but in that subtle, wearing kind of way that could have signaled a number of things. It had been increasing with each meet up, as infrequent as they were, but Dignam had started to notice it.

"Right, you know the routine."

Costigan rolled his eyes, but held up his hands in a surrendering position and turned around.

Dignan gave Costigan the pat down. Unlike Queenan, who normally did this, Dignam gave Costigan the full going over, doing it properly rather than the gentle pats of Queenan's cursory pretense.

"Bet this turns you on, Staff Sargeant. Feeling up all the perps like this."

"Fuck you," Dignam muttered, ignoring the most virtriolic of the words that he wanted to spit in Costigan's ear. He was trying to follow Queenan's order as much as possible, but Costigan had hit a little bit too close for comfort, albeit unintentionally.

Costigan was never packing heat when he met with them (fucker would have probably popped Dignam with a bullet long ago if he had), but he was carrying something else in his jacket pocket. Dignam, after passing it on the first feel down, went up again, pressed his hands to Costigan's chest again. Then, on a half formed hunch, Dignam's hand dove into Costigan's jacket pocket and pulled out the pill bottle.

Costigan lunged at him, but Dignam was fast enough to step back in time. He looked at the bottle to read the label. With his suspicions confirmed, he thought he'd feel victorious, but instead he felt his chest tense up.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

It was a slap-in-the-face reminder of another of Dignam's rules; you got problems, you suck it up and deal with it.

Some of the cops he worked with were all into the therapy shit. The softly-softly caring sharing schtik that was designed to make people feel all warm and fuzzy inside so they would spill their guts, come clean, while some over-qualified therapist was holding their hand and nodding understandingly. They would then smile gratefully, through their oh-so-wet tears, that they final got that shit off their chest.

That was not Dignam's style, to say the least. His line would have been, buck up, kid, pull yourself together, you had a goddamn job to do so quit whining about it. Whining wasn't going to get you anywhere.

Nor was injecting, ingesting, or inhaling drugs in large quantities. An aspirin for a half hour headache was one thing. A bottle full of Oxycontin to get you through the day was another.

"What the fuck is this?"

"Mine, you asshole! Give it back!"

Costigan dove for Dignam again, but Dignam darted away from him with ease.

"I'll tell you what it is. This is a Southie projects cemetery full of overdosed corpses who died with this stuff filling them from neck to ass. This is a jail sentence for trafficking offenses that will keep you inside till your dick shrivels up like a dead fish."

Costigan grabbed for the bottle directly, but Dignam switched it into the other hand rapidly and backed away again.

"Fucking give them back!"

"No hitting now, remember Queenan." Dignam looked at the label again. This time, reading even more of it, he paused for a much longer moment.

Oh this just kept getting better and better.

"And wait, look at this. These are meant for a Catherine Costigan. _Cath-er-ine_. Not _Will-i-am_." Dignam pointed at the label and spoke as if to someone who was deaf to emphasise his point. Costigan stopped, and swallowed, and turned away. Shame? Dignam fucking hoped so.

"So not only are you sending yourself and, more importantly, our investigation, up shit creek with these fucking pills, but you're doing it under your dead mother's goddamn name."

Costigan looked at him with, mouth firmly closed but steely eyes liquid with pure rage. He threw himself at Dignam, but Dignam ducked away towards the hand rail. He shot his hand out over the rail, holding it over the the water below, and shook the pill bottle sharply. The pills rattled inside.

"And since these are the pills of a dead woman, you sure as shit aren't gonna be needing them anymore."

Costigan darted towards him, craned over the edge, grabbing for the bottle. Dignam easily evaded Costigan's hand. His body was soon close to Dignam's. He heard Costigan breathing heavily, saw him panicking, smelt the sweat forming on his face and neck. Despite his anger, despite the fact that Costigan made his blood boil, or perhaps even in some way because of it, Dignam suddenly felt incredibly horny and goddamn he was enjoying watching Costigan freak out.

"What's the matter, Billy, can't reach? All a little bit too hard for you without the pills? Can't you do anything without them now? Is that it, you fucking lace-curtain Irish pussy?"

Costigan stopped, and gave Dignam a more determined than angry look, and Dignam was sure that he was going to take a swing at him now. Dignam would let him, and when he did, he dropped the fucking bottle into the water. The thought made him grin.

Instead, Costigan surged towards him, snaked his arms around Dignam's waist, and snatched Dignam's lips in his own.

Dignam first froze, eyes widening as his thoughts suddenly came to a crashing holt. The words that normally came so easy to him in his mind stopped, and all he thought and felt was Billy Costigan kissing him, Billy Costigan's hard body pressing against his own, Billy Costigan's arm around his waist and one hand twisted through his hair. Dignam's mouth opened slightly, and slid his tongue into Costigan's mouth, and he found himself grabbing Costigan's ass, trying to pull him closer.

Dignam pulled his lips away, and curved down to bite Costigan's neck. He noted with satisfaction that went straight to his dick that Costigan gasped, and Dignam started to suck, hard on that beautiful skin, the smooth pale skin that smelt of soap and cigarettes.

Costigan's ran his finger tips across Dignam's back, digging in hard. Dignam drew back and hissed at the pain that was also pleasure, which opened up his neck for the same treatment with which he gave Costigan. Oh fuck, that was good. The rawness of Costigan's mouth biting his neck, the way his beard and stubble rubbed against his own, all conspired to send twinges of intense pleasure straight to his dick. It was so fucking good.

Dignam's hands slid his hands up to Costigan's waist, and he thrust against Costigan, wanting to press his hard dick against Costigan's body. He heard Costigan, the bastard, chuckled against his neck. Costigan's hands slid down his arms, and then suddenly, Costigan jolted back, smirking with victory. Dignam gasped at the sudden loss of Costigan's body and mouth on him, and felt incredibly drained. He panted for a moment, using the hand rail to steady himself...and only then realised that the bottle of pills were now in Costigan's hand.

Dignam snarled.

"You little fucking homo."

Costigan shook his head. "Oh no, I ain't the homo, I was just trying to distract you." Costigan shook the pills at Dignam. "And it worked."

Dignam stepped towards Costigan, his anger rising with difficult against the exhaustion of his body.

"You moaned like a hooker."

Costigan stepped away all too easily, still smirking, and Dignam got even madder.

"Yeah, before or after you stuck your tongue down my throat?" Costigan asked.

"Fuck you!"

Dignam launched himself at Costigan, starting to thrown a punch but Costigan grabbed his hand and pulled it down to Costigan's side. They were almost nose to nose again, and Dignam felt Costigan's hot breath on him.

"Remember what Queenan said. No fighting."

"What do you think he'll say if someone saw us--"

Costigan grabbed him and kissed him again. Dignam tried to push Costigan back, but his lips and dick were too strong to ignore, and he found himself forcing Costigan back against the rails. He attacked the other side of Costigan's neck with his teeth, and grasped either side of Costigan's chest. Costigan moaned, and he felt Costigan's hand twisting in his hair just enough for it to be painful, and Dignam grew rock hard yet again.

He realised that it was the hand clutching the reclaimed pill bottle, but for the moment, Dignam didn't care. All he wanted was to mark Costigan's neck, bruise him and make him scream and beg.

Then Costigan's other hand slid down the front of Dignam's pants. When he squeezed Dignam's dick, Dignam froze. Suddenly, the fear that should have stopped him in the first place, the fear and the shame of what he was doing, ricocheted through his body. He quickly whipped back from Costigan, smoothed back his hair, and tried to get his breathing back under control. When he did, he found Costigan looking at him with a knowing expression. This time, Dignam decided not to mention what had just happened. As hot as the thought was, it would be fucking stupid to finish the night with Costigan pressed against the car and Dignam thrusting in and out of his tight ass.

Instead, he tried to resume control as the second-in-command of the investigation. "You think I'm fucking kidding about those pills?"

Costigan shrugged, popped upon the lid of the bottle, and poured some onto his hand.

Dignam reached out for Costigan's hand, but Costigan was too quick for him. He shoved the pills in his mouth, threw his head back and swallowed. As he closed the bottle and put it away, he looked at Dignam, daring him to do something about it, and he grinned darkly and little madly.

"You think you've got it all figured out, don't you? You got all your little boxes lined up, and there in the box labelled Billy Costigan is everything you've read about me in a file some fucking new recruit typed up when they were bored one afternoon. Pretending is so easy? How many of them that do all that pretending have a bunch of armed psychopaths looking for an excuse to beat someone into fish bait. People do it everyday? Well, I thought going into the Staties meant I could stop pretending." Costigan laughed nastily. "Shows you how wrong I was. And how right you were. That must feel fantastic, right?"

Costigan stopped talking, exhaled, and turned away from Dignam, hand grasping the rail tightly. For a moment he seemed to tremble. Dignam found himself telling his body not to be weak and feel sorry for the kid, willed himself not to be true to his teasing words from an earlier conversation and get the kid an ice cream for comfort. Not to imagine licking ice cream off Costigan's chin...or chest...or cock...

Then Costigan recovered, turning back to the tough guy face locked on again. Dignam waited for him to speak again, but Costigan remained silent.

"Right," Dignam said after a moment. "Let's do what we actually came to do."

It wasn't anything really new. Just some more info on times Costello had gone off alone without anyone, not even French. It was something to work with, something that might lead them a step closer to this idea that Costello might have been an informant. It was something...but not very much. Dignam didn't say that, though. The conversation ended, business-like, almost civil, and Costigan nodded, and walked away. Dignam normally would have ended it with a well-chosen wise crack, to remind Costigan of how little he thought of him, but this time, all he could think of was silence.

Dignam got back into the car, slammed the door, and leant forward slightly on the wheel. He closed his eyes, and inhaled, and realised that Costigan's scent was all over him. Groaning in frustration, he undid his fly and jerked off as quickly as he could. He was still gasping in relief as he grabbed a handful of tissues and cleaned himself off.

He started up the car, wanting to get away as quickly as possible. As he drove away, he remembered the words Queenan had used on him and everyone they recruited into undercover.

 _We deal in deceptions here, but what we do not deal with is self-deception._

Dignam rubbed the underside of his wedding ring with his thumb, soothed by the coolness of the metal. Those kisses had been a betrayal his marital vows, which he took as seriously as he took the law. He thought of Patricia's smile, how she'd looked so beautiful in white. how her firmness with him kept him grounded and just humble enough to not let the power of his position get to his head.

He pulled up to a red light, and put his fingers to his lips. The kissing had bruised; his lips felt tender, and checking in the rear view mirror, even in the shadows of the car, looked red. The thought of his damaged lips that turned him on as much as the memory of Costigan's body pushing against his and the promise that Costigan's hand had held, quite literally.

He told himself, not for the first time, that it wasn't self-deception if you admitted it to yourself, that pretending was something that just had to be done. Costigan was wrong; pretending was easy because you had to do it every day. Still, he thought as the light turned green and he lightly pressed the accelerator, it didn't justify anything that had happened that night. He berated himself for breaking the rule to end all rules; be smart. He'd thought with his dick instead of his head, and as a result (fuck, if someone had seen and worse, had a camera), potentially jeopardised the investigation, his career, and his marriage. Not smart didn't begin to cover it.

But it wasn't too long after that, after he'd left Sullivan's apartment, after he'd put the hospital boots and gloves in the trash can behind the hospital, after he threw the gun, hidden in a plastic bag, in the harbour, that he remembered Costigan swallowing the pills as if he might die without them. Moreover, as he sat on the couch with Patricia as she rubbed his back, who was asking him when he was going back to work, he remembered Costigan's hot breath, smooth skin, hard body, and wet mouth. All were now cold and dead, his body meat for worms and his face shattered by an unforgiving bullet.

And he realised then, just as he had when he'd finally, but all too late, read Costigan's letters to him and listened to the tapes, and bought the gun illegally under a false name, that sometimes, rules had to be broken.

  



End file.
